


it's you

by lorspolairepeluche



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Avvar AU, F/M, Sethalla, fight to the death, i'm not great at the tags thing yet but i swear i'm tryin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorspolairepeluche/pseuds/lorspolairepeluche
Summary: where is your home, warrior?





	

The Hold is traveling.

At the head of the host, the bearded man leading them turns and shouts a name: “Halla!”

Someone moves quickly among the trudging clan, and in seconds, the young woman is at his side. “I’m here.”

Thane Uriah Fire-Hammer gives her a sidelong glance. “I’ve decided.”

“And?” She can’t keep the eagerness out of her voice.

“It’ll be you.”

Halla grins at the horizon with a certain ferocity, as if challenging the setting sun. “It’ll be me.”

—

The Hold is preparing.

A young man slips into one of the huts. “Seth.”

The hut’s only other occupant stops sharpening his sword to look up.

“Thane wants you,” the other man says shortly.

Sethras stands, a full six feet and nine inches—not counting his horns—and departs silently. The Hold goes about its business around him, preparing for the arrival. They got used to big grey Seth long ago, even before he proved himself the most formidable of their warriors. Seth ducks into the largest building in the Hold. “Thane. You asked for me?” He stands straight before the leader of the Hold, fists clenching and unclenching over and over, the only outward sign of his excitement. _This is it. Will it be me?_

Thane Tyrah Iron-Fist sizes up her most fearsome warrior with a critical eye. “Seth.” She pauses, drawing out the tension until she can see he’s close to snapping and demanding.

“It’ll be you.”

Seth grins at his thane with an unbridled excitement. “It’ll be me.”

—

The Hold has arrived.

The celebrations began the second the Cave-Lion clans arrived in Lake-Forest Hold. Songs, torches, bonfires. The Avvar are not often the wild barbarians that legends tell of, but they could be mistaken for that when two holds gather together. Even when the gathering is because of a dispute.

Iron-Fist and Fire-Hammer are shooting glares at each other across the celebrations, hostility obvious even over the heads of their reveling Holds. The tension seems to only make the fires burn brighter.

Seth moves through the crowds almost invisibly, weaving between warriors, dancers, and so many others. He ogles the dancers shamelessly, giving an approving smirk whenever one of the women looks his way. He doesn’t see the one he’s looking for.

The warriors he looks over more critically. This one favors his left leg, that one seems to be mostly blind in one eye… Any one of them could be his opponent tomorrow.

The gods—and the thanes—have declared a duel. Tyrah and Uriah have an argument—something about grazing lands and herds—and the only way to settle an argument is to let the gods decide. One champion from each hold, dueling at midday until one claims the other’s life—the winner is favored by the gods. And of course Iron-Fist chose Seth. Her best warrior, her biggest, her proudest. He wonders who his opponent will be. None of the warriors Fire-Hammer brought with him have met with Seth’s approval so far.

But the warriors will have to wait. The music has started.

The drums start beating a rhythm in unison, and a cheer goes up from both holds as Cave-Lion’s dancers arrive on the scene. Traditionally masked and painted, they move into the space that is hastily cleared for them and begin to dance.

Seth has always enjoyed watching the dancers. They move with a grace that he could never hope to match, but it’s a grace that is so easy to watch. Seth could gaze all night as the dancers move in unison.

And then one steps out. The others continue their flowing movement to the beat, but the woman in the wolf mask moves on her own, her bare feet stomping on the dirt and bringing out a counter-rhythm. Seth is transfixed. The dancer moves with the same grace as her fellows, but there is an undercurrent there, a certain ferocity, barely contained. Her long black braid whips as she turns. The muscles of her arms, her legs, and her bare abdomen are shown off in the firelight. Underneath her mask, her eyes glitter—and fix on Seth.

And suddenly, it is as if she is dancing for him. Only him. His heart beats in time with the drums, her eyes stay locked with his, and her hands seem to beckon to him as she reaches them out in her dance.

The duel is, for the moment, driven out of Seth’s mind.

—

“He couldn’t keep his eyes off you!”

“I know, ‘Nea.” Halla pulls the mask from her head, running a hand over her crown to smooth back her hair. Her fingers drop to one of the shaved sides of her head, rubbing the short hair there as a quiet comfort. “I saw.”

“You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, either.” Sanea’s voice holds a tease and a question.

“You don’t see a lot of horn-heads among Avvar holds,” Halla answers dismissively. “I was interested to see he’s still here, that’s all.”

“Still interested, I’ll say,” Sanea comments, reclining onto the furs in the guest room provided them. “You think he’ll be the one?”

“What?” Halla looks up, alarmed, but Sanea just raises her eyebrows.

“Iron-Fist’s champion.” The youngest sister grins. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing,” Halla snaps. “I had no idea what you meant.”

“Of course you did,” Sanea says with a lazy grin. “You’ve had your eye on him every time we’ve visited Lake-Forest, Halla. Even I can see that.”

“Shut up, Sanea.”

“Has she finally found the man she’ll let kidnap her?”

“I said shut _up!_ ” Halla’s hand slams into the wall beside her on the last word, and she whirls. “You sound like Fire-Hammer,” she hisses. “And everyone else! ‘Just let someone marry you—you’ll be better off’! How many men do I have to slash across the face before they understand that _I don’t want that?_ He’s the only one who’s ever wanted me for something other than a trophy.”

Sanea bolts to her feet, reaching for her sister. “Halla—Halla, I’m sorry. I was—”

“I know.” Halla’s voice is short as she forces herself to relax. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“You don’t want that. I know. I went too far.” Sanea touches Halla’s shoulder hesitantly. “Sorry.”

Halla pulls Sanea tight to her with a smile. “My little ‘Nea.”

Sanea giggles as she hugs back. “My big Halla.” She barely comes up to her sister’s chest.

Halla lets her go. “Go back to the celebration. I’ll join you in a bit, but I’m still going to bed early. I do have a fight tomorrow.”

Sanea leaves with a grin, but Halla’s falls as soon as she turns back to her pack. _She’ll never know._ Halla tucks the padding fabric in around her wolf mask. _She’ll never know that Fire-Hammer wanted to put her in that fight instead of me. She’s too young—too tiny. She hasn’t had the proper training with her magic. The Augur has his apprentices. Putting Sanea in that fight would be a death sentence._ Her fist clenches on top of her pack. _Iron-Fist and Fire-Hammer are a couple of scheming bastards. The duel’s a distraction—they’ve already decided exactly what they’re going to do. Word of the gods, my flaming arse. Whoever wins will just be an added bonus._

Her hand relaxes as something occurs to her. _What if Sanea was right? What if it is him I face tomorrow?_ The thought twinges something in her chest.

But it’s driven from her mind as something shifts behind her. Her hand moves to clench something else in her pack, ignoring the one in the sheath across the back of her belt so as to not alert the intruder. Those footfalls, however much they were quieted, do not belong to any of her family. Halla counts silently down in her head. _Three…two…one._

She whirls.

And the intruder backpedals frantically when faced with the knife she holds and the fighting stance into which she drops. “Whoa. Easy.”

Halla is as surprised as her visitor—it’s _him._

With more moonlight than firelight, it’s clear that his hair is a bright silvery white, falling about his shoulders in a way that looks—is, Halla knows—absolutely unfairly soft, and the gold of his eyes was not a trick of the bonfire. He lets out an involuntary breath and smiles. “I thought it might be you under that mask.”

The knife drops to Halla’s side as she laughs. “Seth. Thought I saw you.”

Seth’s fingers brush her cheek lightly before his hand cups her cheek. “Oh, you more than _saw_ me, Halla,” he teases, his other arm pulling her closer by her waist. She’s barely six inches shorter than he is; she only has to tilt her head back a little to look him in the eye as he brushes her hair from her face. His next words are a whisper, the words that have begun every one of their trysts since Halla was eighteen: “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

—

_She’d just come of age, and she was kissing her childhood friend._

_Their Holds had visited each other enough that the two of them had watched each other grow up. Halla had been a proud child, able to beat any of the boys in a race or a wrestling match or even a fistfight, but she had become fascinated with Seth, the one boy who could best her at all of those._

_Now, she straddled his lap, her hands and his wandering each other’s bodies, lower and lower until Seth’s hands were firm on her ass, pulling her toward him, encouraging her to grind in slow circles, even as he pushed his head forward, seeking more from the kiss._

_“Seth,” she whispered. “Seth, fuck me.”_

_He broke the kiss as his face heated up. “Are you…are you sure—”_

_“You’re asking something like that when you’re as hard as you are?”_

_“You’re…you’re my friend, and I…”_

_“And we’re already kissing.” Halla shrugged._

_“I don’t mean to brag, but I’m…I’m…_ big. _”_

_“Even better.”_

_“Halla, I’m serious. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”_

_She cocked an eyebrow with an inviting smirk. “Better get me good and wet, then.”_

_Seth stared, speechless, for two more seconds before he dropped his gaze—right to her bare chest. His face flushed even darker as he looked to the side. “I just…”_

_Her hand turned his face back to her. “Seth. Look. If you don’t wanna, that’s fine. But if you’re willing, then I’m telling you now: Fuck me.”_

_Seth wouldn’t have been able to tear his eyes from her even if she hadn’t been holding his face firmly between her hands. He wet his lips and whispered, “May I kiss you?_ ”

—

An hour later and drunker, Seth and Halla stumble into Seth’s hut, already kissing again. Halla’s fingers find the clasp of Seth’s fur cloak—the only thing he wears above his waist—and undo it after three tries. She pushes it from his shoulders and stops to stare at him, letting her eyes rove over his abdomen, his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He’s even more muscled than she remembered. She licks her lips once with a wine-soaked tongue, stopping for only a second to justify— _if it’s him, then tonight’s our last chance_ —before she throws caution to the winds and says, “I _want_ you.”

Seth’s eyes burn with a desire the same as hers as he smiles and whispers, “Then have me.” He doesn’t push Halla down onto the furs, but lets her lie down herself and beckon hungrily. His smile is equally as hungry as he kneels and props himself over her.

Like every time before, Seth keeps asking permission for everything for the rest of the night—to unwind the fabric binding her breasts, to lower his mouth to her stomach as her breath comes shallow and hot, to carefully pull her hide leggings down and mouth at her.

He even asks permission to make her climax.

She gives it enthusiastically.

—

_Halla laid her head down on Seth’s chest with a long, sated sigh. The post-sex haze was clouding her mind, but she was relatively sure that, for the first time, clumsiness hadn’t gotten in the way for either of them. For the first time, she and Seth had truly made love to each other._

_“Gods, Halla,” he breathed almost mindlessly, tucking his head into her shoulder to inhale her scent. “I want you. I need you. …I_ missed _you.”_

_“I missed you too, Seth,” she murmured back, her eyes closing. “Been too long.”_

_Seth let out a sigh as he allowed his head to fall back onto his pillow. “Halla. You are home to me.”_

_Halla stiffened just the slightest bit. Home? Home is Hold. That was what they’d both been told since infancy. Loyalty to the Hold is paramount, more important than blood. More important than anything, let alone sex._

_Halla shivered to think what power Iron-Fist and Fire-Hammer would wield over the two of them if the thanes found out what Seth whispered._

_But she snuggled closer. “I’ll try to be a good one, then,” she murmured._

—

Seth doesn’t fall asleep right away. There’s still something he has to ask.

“You still aren’t married?” he says softly, trailing his fingers up and down Halla’s arm. “Why?”

“No one who’s tried to kidnap me has deserved me,” Halla says dismissively.

“Ooh, what an ego,” Seth teases.

“I’ve told you before, Seth: I won’t be someone’s captive bride,” she answers defiantly, but she doesn’t pull her arm away from his touch. “When I marry, I’ll choose my own husband. I won’t let someone cart me off to be his bride, just so he can tire of me a few years later and send me back to a hold that will never see me as anything more than a traitor. I’ll choose my own destiny.” She keeps his gaze locked with hers as she says it.

Seth just shakes his head in wide-eyed wonder as he shifts closer to her and gathers her into his arms. “You’re incredible,” he whispers.

Halla smiles tentatively at the praise. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

They dissolve into slow kisses and whispers of affection, and as Seth falls asleep, he’s pretty sure it’s not the wine whispering to him that he’s in love.

—

_Seth trailed his fingers up and down Halla’s spine, and a smile crossed her face. “Morning,” she murmured._

_“Good morning,” Seth said, rolling over to prop himself over her and drag his lips down her back. “Sleep well?”_

_“I always do with you.” Halla lifted her head for a kiss, and Seth obliged. They fit together so easily now, Seth rolling his hips against Halla’s backside as she sighed in contentment. “Mm, I’d wager we had more fun last night than the bride and groom did.”_

_The image hit Seth without warning: Halla sleeping, snuggled in the furs in his bed as if she belonged there. Sleeping late, lazily giving and receiving affection…as a wife would._

Marry me.

_The words stuck in his throat. The idea had come to him weeks ago while daydreaming of her. He’d dismissed it then—she was always far too independent._ I don’t want to just get married after someone I barely know kidnaps me. _True, Seth had dreamed of making her his bride after they started sleeping together—although in his imaginings, she always came with him happily. If he told the full truth, she was the only one he’d ever thought of that way._

_His traitorous mind continued on its way as Halla turned over beneath him with a frown at his sudden stop. It imagined Halla dancing, for him and only him. Halla kissing him with no urgency, no secrets whatsoever. The freedom to call her his own, tell her he loved her—_

_“Seth?”_

_“Sorry,” he blurted, reaching down to her face. She nearly purred in satisfaction as he caressed her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed. “You’re just so fascinating to look at…”_ My love. _He didn’t dare call her that aloud._

—

Seth wakes alone.

That in and of itself is strange—Halla’s always woken later than him when they slept together before. She was always up for sleepy kisses and sometimes one more round before they both got up to face the wolf-whistles and taunts from both their Holds. Something twinges in him when he sees that the furs are still pressed down where she slept next to him. So she didn’t leave too long ago.

He bites down on his lip instead of letting himself think of his plan to playfully ask for a good-luck kiss when they woke. Of course she’d be supporting her own Hold’s warrior, but in private, they could recreate tales of lowlander chivalry. Maybe he’d even have asked teasingly for her favor to wear.

The possibility is gone now, though. Seth pushes himself up, scrubs a hand over his face, and grabs his clothes.

He has a fight to prepare for.

—

She crouches on the dueling ground, knives sheathed on her back, painted as a warrior, her Hold gathered behind her. Words are flying from her lips, murmurs so her Hold doesn’t hear, soft prayers that are not for victory: “Korth Mountain-Father, Lady of the Skies, Hakkon Wintersbreath, if I have been faithful, if I have been a good person, then please…” She grits her teeth, screws her eyes shut to keep her tears back. “Please don’t let it be him.”

A faint cheer gets louder in her ears, and she stands in time to see Lake-Forest Hold approaching the other side of the dueling ground. Their warrior strides before them, easily the tallest by a head or more, back straight and proud, and Halla’s stomach drops out of her.

It’s him.

—

“No.”

The word leaves Seth’s mouth as soon as he catches sight of his opponent, before he registers what he’s saying. Even painted, even with some of her hair styled into a fierce crest, even gripping a dagger in each hand, he knows her. His beautiful dancer faces him, his friend, his lover.

His Halla waits for him.

“Thane,” he says, his voice shaking. “No. No, I can’t do this.” _I can’t fight her. I can’t kill her. This is over some petty dispute—what cruel god set_ her _before me?_

Tyrah’s hand is firm at his back as he tries to back away. “You have a duty, warrior. A duty to your Hold.” Her voice gets sharper. “Are you going to throw that away?”

_Home is Hold. You have a duty._

He looks back up at Halla, and there are so many things he wants to say. _I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my home. I wanted you to marry me._

_I love you._

Seth unsheathes his sword, ignores the sting in his eyes, and says, “I will do as I am bid, my thane.”

There is one good thing about this, Seth reflects as Iron-Fist and Fire-Hammer stare each other down in the middle of the dueling ground before turning together and walking to the edge of the agreed ground. He adjusts his grip on his sword. _I don’t want to be killed by anyone else but her._

They start to circle each other. Their eyes are not set on each other; each glances away every few seconds, as if they cannot bear to look at each other like this.

Halla is first, bounding across at Seth and striking out with both daggers. Seth’s movement is quick, and he catches both on his sword instinctively. Part of him wishes he’d let her past his guard.

Her braid whips past, and he snatches it, drags her closer— _wants to use the leverage to kiss her, like he’s done so many times before_ —but reels backward when her dagger lashes out, scoring a cut down one side of his chest. They back off, Seth bleeding, eyes locked now.

Both of them have tears in their eyes.

Seth attacks first this time, raising his sword and forcing himself not to shout a warning at her. Even as he swings, his vision blurs.

The fight continues. Wounds are inflicted, blood begins to drip, and still both of them refuse to cry out. The Holds make all the noise for them, shouting encouragement or insults as appropriate.

Finally, Halla catches Seth’s giant sword on both her knives, and even through the metal, he can feel her arms shaking. She relies on speed, not strength. He could push her guard away and take his victory right now— _claim a kiss, claim her._

Halla uses his moment of hesitation to shove the sword away and lunge— _and Seth thinks that those intense eyes have always been one of his favorite features of hers_ —

The knife sinks home in Seth’s left arm. His left hand drops his sword, and Halla pushes his weapon out of his other hand. The sword clatters to the ground, and Halla’s other dagger whites out every thought in Seth’s head when she plunges it into the side of his abdomen. She changed her target at the last second, avoiding a worse injury with a twitch of her hand.

His legs go numb and give out, and the daggers rip even bigger holes in him. He falls on his side, but his shout of pain only comes when Halla pushes him onto his back and sits on top. She raises one of her knives, and Seth waits for death.

—

The knife trembles with her hand. Her vision blurs. She grits her teeth.

She can’t do it.

She tried to rationalize the entire fight. _If Seth kills me, it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. I can save him that suffering if I win. I can take it on my own back if I’m the one to kill him instead of the other way around._

She can’t do it.

It’s _Seth_ lying under her. Seth, who she’s known since childhood. Seth, whose horn nubs she rubbed as a child when he grumbled about them itching. Seth, who was the only one to ever beat her in a race, a wrestling match, or a fistfight.

Seth, who she _loves._

What a cruel joke, that it’s only now, on the day one of them dies, that she realizes that.

She can’t _fucking_ do it.

“Halla!”

She looks up, tears still running down her cheeks, dagger still raised, to see Fire-Hammer glaring at her. “Well?” he snarls. “You’ve won. You have a duty to your Hold.”

_Hold is Home._

_You’re my home._

Halla knows, with a sudden, dreadful clarity, that Iron-Fist and Fire-Hammer _knew._ They knew exactly what they were doing. Not only had they struck a deal on the dispute itself, but they’d be getting rid of a weak link each with this duel.

“Halla…”

She looks down again, and Seth’s eyes are the same as they were last night—loving and gentle and caring and—

He smiles faintly. Encouraging. _You’ve won. Take what you are due._ His hand moves up, rests on her thigh as it has done so many times before.

“Halla!” Fire-Hammer roars again. “What are you waiting for? You’ve won! His life is yours to claim!”

And just like that, Halla has her answer.

She plunges the knife down.

—

Death doesn’t come.

The knife sinks into the dirt next to Seth’s head, and he opens his eyes to see Halla leaning over him, her eyes bright. “My prayers are answered,” she whispers to him, her hand, now free, coming up to cradle his face. “There’s another way, Seth.” She hesitates, but leans the rest of the way down and kisses his bloody forehead with her bloody lips. “I love you.”

Her weight disappears from his chest as she pushes herself to her feet. He only faintly hears Fire-Hammer shout, “What are you doing?” but Halla’s voice sounds much clearer.

“You say his life is mine to claim? Then I claim it! His life is mine! Until I release him, be it by my word, my deed, or my death.” She looks back down at Seth and says, quieter, “He’s mine.”

It rings true in Seth’s ears as he passes out. _I am hers._

—

“You mean I could have fought _Sanea?_ ” There is fury in Seth’s voice as the Augur works on his lesser wounds. The stab wounds in his arm and his side are healed, but still bandaged for precaution. “She’s barely more than a child!”

Halla scowls at the distance in front of her where she sits beside Seth’s cot, arms folded tightly. “Fire-Hammer was baiting me. He knew I wouldn’t be willing any other way. They wanted us to fight, Seth. They knew.” She put her face in her hands. “This is my fault. I refused to get married, and Fire-Hammer knew about us. If I killed you, there would go my attachment. If you killed me, there I’d go. Either way, the problem would be solved.”

Seth reaches his uninjured arm out to her, and she puts her hand in his as he says, “Iron-Fist knew too. She used it against me. She wanted me either loyal to the Hold or dead.” He manages a smile as she looks at him. “Thankfully, you’re a quick thinker, my love.”

Halla smiles back. “Are you feeling better yet…husband?”

“A little,” he allows. “You got me pretty good. I knew there was a reason I love you.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

Seth’s smile softens. “So long as you’re here.”

“You know…” Halla hesitates. “It was you. It was only ever you.”

“I know,” Seth murmurs. “And it was always you, my love. Only you.”

“Do you two mind shutting up?” the Augur, an old, extremely crotchety woman, asks. “Can’t do my work if my teeth are rotting.”

Seth and Halla laugh together until something occurs to Seth and he asks, “Does this mean I get to kidnap you, bride of mine?”

Halla smirks. “We’ll see.”

—

—

Thane Sethras Karasen sleeps soundly in his quiet hold. His hold now; Iron-Fist had named him her successor on her deathbed, with the order to combine their shrinking Hold with that of his destined wife.

Even now, a dark figure steals past every dwelling, stops to placate the druffalo hold-beast with an offering of food, and slips into the thane’s home.

The thane wakes when another mouth presses itself to his. The person suddenly sharing his bed grins in the dim moonlight, and Seth recognizes the new thane of Cave-Lion Hold.

“Hello, husband,” Halla Stone-Wolf whispers with a grin. “I’m here to make good on that claim of mine.”


End file.
